


skid marks

by nautilics



Series: SASO 2017 Fills [13]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Gen, Reckless Coping Behaviours, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 19:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11996115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilics/pseuds/nautilics
Summary: “‘Samu.” Dirt and glass crunch underfoot as his brother crouches over him. “You're a fucking idiot. Did you know that?”It's difficult to think. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu,” he manages, after he pulls the words together. “I reckon I did.”Osamu in the underground street race with theomamori.





	skid marks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 5: Clue | Originally posted [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/24808.html?thread=14843368#cmt14843368).

“‘Samu.” Dirt and glass crunch underfoot as his brother crouches over him. “You're a fucking idiot. Did you know that?”

It's difficult to think. “Yeah, ‘Tsumu,” he manages, after he pulls the words together. “I reckon I did.”

He can't see Atsumu's face, but he hears the huff in his brother's voice, feels the cold whisper of hands on his cheeks. With some effort, he can imagine the rough scrape of the callouses that once lined those fingers, almost feel the weight of a touch.

“My stupid brother,” Atsumu says, and Osamu closes his eyes.

-

The _omamori_ swings under the rearview mirror, embroidered golden threads catching the light every time Osamu speeds past a streetlight. In the passenger seat, Atsumu leans forward and bats at it, like he’s a cat or something.

“Meow,” he says, like he’s read Osamu’s mind, and Osamu doesn’t laugh but he doesn’t swerve the car either.

“And people say I’m the impulsive one,” Atsumu replies, laughter curling in his voice. He cages the _omamori_ in his hands, fingers crooked like he’s holding something precious. The printed words aren’t visible through the shadows of his fingers, but the memory of them is still enough to make Osamu tamp down a snort: _traffic safety_ , for good luck and protection on the road. 

“They’re not all wrong,” Osamu replies. He sees Atsumu’s smile from the corner of his eye, and he almost smiles, too, before he remembers.

He checks his mirrors, and presses his foot down harder.

-

The _omamori_ swings under the rearview mirror, damp but intact thanks to the plastic case it came in. Atsumu, in the driver’s seat, whistles and pulls it off, wiping it on his shirt. 

“Well, it kinda did the job,” he says with a chuckle, hooking it back into place once it’s dry. _Ward against evil_ , it reads, free of the soda which is still sprayed across the windscreen and centre console around it. “Might have been the plastic more than any supernatural forces, though.”

Osamu sweeps a handful of tissues across the windscreen to mop up what he can. “I don’t think you bursting a can of soda counts as ‘evil’,” he says drily, hoping that the liquid won’t leave streaks when it dries.

Atsumu shrugs, picks up the offending can of soda and downs the rest of it. He tosses it over his shoulder once he’s done, and Osamu peers into the backseat with a grimace. “That’s gross, ‘Tsumu.”

“Better than littering,” Atsumu says cheerily, and pulls the car back onto the road.

-

The _omamori_ swings under the rearview mirror as he slows to a stop at the lights, casting erratic shadows under the glare of the streetlights. There’s already another car idling in the lane next to him, engine purring gently. 

Osamu unhooks the charm and tosses it into the glove compartment; wouldn’t want a trick of the light to make him flinch at the wrong time. Atsumu is silent in the passenger seat, a muted and still storm, and Osamu knows what he’s going to say and so he ignores him. 

He casts a glance across at the other car instead, and sees a pair of eyes already looking back at him. He lifts his chin, a wordless challenge, and revs the engine. Atsumu’s car comes alive beneath his foot with a smooth rumble that coils in his chest, and the other car rises to meet it.

The traffic light in front of them is still red. Osamu clenches his hands against the wheel, then relaxes them. Atsumu, at his side, exhales soundlessly.

“And people say I’m the impulsive one,” he says again, a bitter twist to his tone. He taps his fingers against the glove compartment. 

There’s a jagged feeling clawing at Osamu’s throat, and he barks out a laugh, brittle. “Not anymore,” he says, lips curled but not smiling. “They don’t say much of anything about you anymore, ‘Tsumu.” _Not much of anything left to talk about_. The words are sour in his mouth.

The lights turn green and Osamu jams the pedal, and both cars shoot forward in a screech of rubber.

He hears Atsumu hum, a tuneless note under his breath, even through the adrenaline rushing through his ears. “No,” Atsumu agrees. “Not anymore.” 


End file.
